


Burn After Reading

by Lauren_is_a_moron



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Betty Cooper is a BAMF, Bughead fic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, FP Jones is a famous author, Kidnapping, Roadtrip, Stockholm Syndrome, also minor jarchie and varchie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-13 15:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21159626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauren_is_a_moron/pseuds/Lauren_is_a_moron
Summary: "I'll give you anything! I have cash-" his chest was bursting, a scream clawing at his throat. The girl's index finger teased the trigger. Archie squeezed his eyes shut, muffling at him to run. The blonde shook her head, her curls bouncing. She dropped Archie, instead pointing the gun at Jughead. He lost his breath. "I don't want cash, silly," she rolled her eyes, perfectly plucked brows raising in amusement. "Get in the van.""What?" Jughead whimpered. "What? I-" he stumbled over his words, and the girl clearly enjoyed it. "Are you deaf?" she giggled, pressing the butt of the gun into her own temples, miming a gunshot. "Get in the van, Jughead Jones, or like I said, I'll give your friend a frontal lobotomy." the terrifying gleam in the eye told him she wasn't messing around, and Jughead was 100% sure her gun was loaded. He stood his ground, swallowing a cry."You know my name," he was careful with his tone. But his teeth remained gritted. "Let me guess," Jughead surprised himself with a harsh laugh. "You're Seventeen fans."-or: FP is a famous author who abandoned his best selling book and went off the radar, so crazy fans Betty, Veronica and Kevin kidnap Jughead and force him to finish the book.





	Burn After Reading

**Author's Note:**

> I always write betty as the damsel in distress (sort of) so i figured I'd write her in a new light :D ive also been listening to Seventeen a lot so i had to name the book after the song lmao

Jughead Jones didn't hate books. In fact, it was quite the opposite. What was there to hate? The ability to completely ignore reality and delve into fantasy worlds where you could be any character, whether that's a human, or supernatural creature, even an animal. There are multiple perspectives, different worlds, planets, universes. Anything was better than real life. That's what he loved about books. He could be anyone and do anything. Books were a doorway into a different world. They were the muse of an authors creativity, where they could let their imagination run wild. If he was being honest with himself Jughead loved books. Except from his father's. Seventeen was a kids series, quickly morphing into a Young Adult Fantasy about a girl, Sia, and her four friends who get psychic abilities and solve crimes. The story was straight forward, and had budding romances as well as likeable characters.

It was basically Harry Potter with a dash of Junior Criminal minds. Kids who read it as kindergarteners grew up with the characters, who started as kids themselves, slowly blossoming into older kids, and then teenagers. It wasn't original. The plot had been done a million times before, in many aspects of media. So why was it so successful? Jughead had been six years old when the book had been published, and his father FP Jones had been catapulted into stardom.

They called him the next J. K Rowling with Seventeen sales sky rocketing. When he was younger, Jughead had been too young to understand the book. He vaguely remembered being forced into his best clothes and walking the red carpet, hand in hand with his father, blinded by the flash of paparazzi cameras. He went on live television and sat on his dad's knee while a grinning woman clutched a copy of Seventeen, eagerly shooting questions at the two of them.

"So Jughead!" The grinning lady's gaze fell on him, and he'd shrunk back, tears welling in his eyes. "How does it feel to be the son of a famous author?"

"Good." he'd managed to reply, and the audience had laughed and awed.

He didn't know what to say. He was six, after all. Jughead was only aware of his life changing drastically. Suddenly he was no longer stuck in tiny hotel rooms with peeling paint and floral wallpaper, quite a squeeze for he, his mother and his little sister Jellybean. In the blink of an eye Jughead had his own room in a four story house with a swimming pool. Seventeen was the source of his dad's success, raking in millions of pounds over a ten year period.

Though it had never been finished. Jughead was twelve when the book went into official hiatus. Though he expected it. Seventeen had killed his father, or at least his brain. He had wandered into his dad's office numerous times as he'd grown up, seeing his father, a shell of the man he used to be; greasy overgrown hair and pallid skin. He barely ate. The evidence came in plates of untouched mac and cheese coagulating next to empty coffee mugs. There he'd be, vigorously typing on his laptop. Jughead had gotten used to seeing him slam down the backspace key. His desk would be cluttered with old dusty copies of Seventeen, letters from his publisher covered in warning red ink. But Jughead never commented on them. He did what he always did.

"Dad," Six year old Jughead would mumble. Though as he got older, his tone got progressively more irritated. "Please stop," his younger self whispered. But aged twelve, he couldn't take it anymore. Seeing his father like this killed him inside, After months of being cooped up in his bedroom, FP finally emerged one morning, armed with his laptop, holding a suitcase. He had reminded Jughead of a zombie; vacant eyes and yellow skin. He'd been in the same clothes for months, they hung off him, stained and wrinkled. "I'm leaving." he'd said, and Gladys had said nothing. Only bidding him a sarcastic goodbye. Jughead didn't run after him, begging him to stay, because FP hadn't been a father to him in years. His childhood had been stolen from him by a book. Presently, Jughead lived with a broken family, in a very large house that felt empty most of the time. Gladys had returned to her job as a night nurse so he never saw her, and Jellybean spent most of her time at a friends house. So it was Just Jughead and the empty Jones mansion, full of ghosts from his past, like the arguments his mother and father had almost every day. FP wanted to write the last book and Gladys was firmly against it.

"Do you understand what this book is doing to you, FP?" she had shrieked one night, when ten year old Jughead had been kneeling on the stairs, his head pressed in his lap. Jellybean had been next to him, a sobbing mess. "Are mom and dad splitting up?" she'd whispered, and he'd been unsure what to say, his own throat felt like sandpaper.

"It's killing you!" Gladys yelled, choking on a strangled sob. "It's killing you, and you can't see it, FP! If you can't write it, don't force yourself! Because what you're doing is dragging me and the kids down with you." but he hadn't listened. Only insisting that he was nearly finished. He was barely halfway finished when he'd left. Jughead had found scraps of paper cluttering the carpet and overflowing in the garbage can under his desk. There were hundreds, if not thousands of crumples up pieces of paper, bearing the disjointed story of Seventeen's final book. Jughead had meant to throw them out, like his mother told him to. Instead he kept them in a box underneath his bed. Just in case FP ever came home, with the smile he missed, as well as the warm brown eyes that had turned a murky grey over the years. Or maybe that was just Jughead's fucked up perception. Jughead expected his father to come back, bearing the final finished copy of Seventeen, so he could release it, the world could get their desired ending, and it could die.

But he never did. So Seventeen lived on, and Jughead unfortunately lived vicariously through its shadow. Presently, FP Jones's office was shut, buried under piles and piles of letters; angry fan mail and publisher's demanding the final book. It had been five years since his disappearance and Jughead was still haunted by his father's creation. Police investigation's had died down, with them confirming that the author didn't want to be found. The merchandise was everywhere; stranger's who walked past him on the street bore shirts with cartoon depictions of Seventeen's characters. Sia and Noah the main couple were plastered all over bookstores in different formats; graphic novels and sticker books. A movie was in talks without a shred of his father's consent.

Random people came up to him, recognising him as FP Jones's son and demanding if Noah and Sia were ever going to get together, or if James really was dead. If Lila's ability had truly turned her crazy. Apparently FP had left the world hanging on a cliffhanger.

The thing was, Jughead had no idea how the story continued. He'd never read a single page of Seventeen. And didn't want to. Ever. 

"I don't get it," Cheryl Blossom plucked the first Seventeen book from the shelf with scarlet fingernails, her lips curling into a frown. Jughead had been staring at the book for far too long, and the girl had finally noticed. The cover was eye catching, he had to admit that; the four main characters behind a mirror, with matching terrified expression's. The main girl's hair billowed around her in a golden hurricane. Jughead straightened up, letting out a sigh. But Cheryl was grinning at him expectantly. "You're the son of one of the most famous authors in the world, and yet you're working in a run down book store?"

Jughead rolled his eyes. He had half a mind to grab the book off of the girl, but Cheryl had a wicked grip. He considered her question. The Jones family were multi-millionaires thanks to Seventeen, so why did he insist on working a twelve hour shift in a book shop? Jughead figured some subconscious part of him wanted to be near his father's books, but really, he just wanted to be normal. He shuffled uncomfortably in the itchy polo shirt bearing the anthropomorphic grinning book stitched to his chest. It was warm for April, and he had already sweated his way through two work shirts. Grundy's Reads was an old book store sitting on the edge of Riverdale, and had barely any customers. The place stunk of ancient books and dust, and Cheryl Blossom was his only company. He often wondered why the girl insisted on working by his side. She wasn't exactly poor. "Easy," he clucked his tongue. "I like working here."

Cheryl smirked. "Really?"

Jughead shrugged, leaning against the counter. He ran his hand through his dark hair, shifting his knitted beanie off his head.

"It's quiet here, and peaceful," he murmured, his lips curving into a soft smile. The store itself was tiny, packed with bookshelves with every book you could imagine. The walls were covered in peeling paint and there was a display of Seventeen books in the front window. But it was quiet. Thankfully the demographic of customers was 65+ and Jughead only had to deal with old people asking for questionable titles. It was like working at the library. Outside, the sun was sitting in the middle of a cornflower coloured sky. Jughead longed to be out in the haze, sitting in the park with his laptop on his knees, finishing off his novel.

Jughead's novel, unlike his father's books, wasn't a Young Adult. Instead it was fictional exaggeration of his home town. After all, Riverdale was nothing special. Nothing interesting happened, so he'd imagined drug dealing gangs with strange names, mobster teenagers and killer Dungeons and Dragons style games.

The characters he'd made up were all of his own creation, lightly basing them off kids in town. He'd picked out four kids at random; a jock, a cheerleader, a weirdo and a lone blonde on her laptop. He'd given them twisted back stories and thrown them together in daring relationships, it was the most fun he'd ever had, giving these stranger's an actual story. He didn't even know their names. The book's working title was: "The Town Who Dreaded Sundown." taken from one of his favorite movies. Jughead might as well take advantage of being a famous author's son, already scoring a meeting with a publisher in two weeks.

"Jughead?" Cheryl Blossom waved her hand in front of his face, and he blinked, wafting it away. He was daydreaming again. He often found himself falling into his book's plot, trying to think up new twists and character's. "What?" 

"I'm trying to have a decent talk with you and you're totally zoning out!" the girl hissed. "Snap out of it Jones!" Jughead blinked again. It was hard not to fall asleep in this heat, and besides, all Cheryl talked about was - herself. Shockingly. She was the single most narcissistic person he'd ever met. Cheryl wore the same light blue polo shirt, but somehow it looked perfect on her. Everything did. She was the type of girl who could perfect any outfit, even a goddamn trash bag.

Cheryl was tall with pale skin and red hair pulled into a ponytail trickling down her back. Every guy in Riverdale was obsessed with her, and Jughead didn't see the appeal. If anything, she was a whiny, annoying rich bitch. But somehow, the two of them got along. It was a love/hate relationship, if anything. Jughead cleared his throat. "What about you?" he yawned, nodding at the girl, who looked taken-aback for a moment. "You're the daughter of the richest man in Riverdale, why are YOU here?" Cheryl's family were well known owners of the Blossom maple empire. Cheryl had also grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth. The difference between them was she had embraced her parents cash, flaunting expensive clothes and handbags. It really didn't make sense why she chose to work with him every Saturday afternoon. The girl scowled, her lip curling with distaste. "Okay, I get your point," she murmured, placing Seventeen back on the counter next to the ancient cash register. After a beat of silence, Jughead half listening to a pop song loudly playing in someone's car outside, the girl sighed, tracing the front cover of Seventeen with her fingernail. "No offence to your dad or anything, Jones, but I really didn't like the fourth book. It was trash."

Jughead couldn't help smiling. "I don't like any of them." he muttered. It was a tight squeeze behind the counter, with the two of them packed together like sardines. Cheryl jumped onto the desk, swinging her legs. She nudged him with the toes of her boots playfully. "Oh really?" her green eyes widened with curiosity.

"Do tell," she cocked her head. "Is this because of your dad going AWOL?"

"No," he muttered, when in fact, yes. That was the main reason why he couldn't stand his father's books. Jughead flipped the book over so he didn't have to look at the cover. Sia Montgomery haunted him. He'd often wondered if FP had loved the character more than him. Jughead had lost count of how many times he'd caught his dad staring at an illustration of her on his laptop. His father's character's were beautiful. The illustrator had done a good job. Sia was tall with toffee skin, curly blonde hair and a permanent frown while Noah was pale skinned with a shock of red hair, warm brown eyes and a mischievous grin.

Jughead had never liked the story or the characters, but if he had a gun to his head, forced to say one thing he could tolerate about the Seventeen books, it would be Noah's best friend. The nerdy sidekick. He wasn't sure of the kid's name. All he knew was that FP had based the character off of him. Though he'd been too young to understand. Years on, he caught glimpses of the Seventeen book covers; Noah and Sia standing together, along with their third companion, a pale boy with dark hair and glasses. When Jughead was younger he wore glasses for reading. He used to sit in the family room with his head in a book. His father would come in and hand him a copy of Seventeen. "Give it a chance, boy."

"Why?" His younger self had questioned, genuinely curious. He could already see that the book was beginning to tear his dad apart. The beginning of his decline appearing in tired, squinting eyes. "You'll find a surprise," FP tried to act excited, but he just looked pathetic. And Jughead had hid his face behind The Chronicles Of Narnia, so his father didn't see the tears slipping down his cheeks. After an awkward silence, FP had sighed. "Just have a read, son. I promise you'll find yourself in there somewhere."

He'd never tried to find the character he was based off, but had a vague idea of who it was, thanks to the world of Seventeen being constantly in his face. Jughead no longer needed glasses, so really, the character was nothing like him. He hoped.

"James." Cheryl turned the book over and pointing to the third member of the gang. Well, she didn't exactly point. The girl stabbed the point of her fingernail on the cover. Jughead winced. James. That was his name. His stomach twisted into a knot.

"He ruined it," Cheryl groaned. "I can't believe he told Sia he loved her, right in front of Noah. And then he gets shot? How is Sia supposed to come back from that?"

"Cheryl-" 

"And Lila! Did she really lose her mind? She was one of my favourite characters, honestly. If I had to choose between her and Sia, I'd pick Lila."

"Cheryl, seriously-" but the girl, to his annoyance, carried on. "Do you think James survived? God, I hope not. He was so annoying, and like, really full of himself."

"I don't know and I don't care," Jughead said, tearing his gaze from the book. "If my father planned an ending, I don't know what it is."

Cheryl hummed. She folded her arms. "But he must have an office," she pressed. "Doesn't he keep copies of it or something?"

Jughead turned to the girl. He couldn't help the scowl on his lips, the fire in his eyes.

"Is that why you're talking to me?" he demanded. "To get some kind of closure on this shitty book series?" he shoved the book away, and it slid across the counter.

Cheryl shook her head, scoffing. 

"Please. If all I cared about was Seventeen, I would have quit this shitty job ages ago," she sighed. "Like you, I prefer to stay away from my family."

The girls words left the two of them in an uncomfortable silence. Jughead was frowning at the grains on the mahogany desk when the wind chimes hanging over the door played a sweet melody. Jughead looked up, expecting Archie. The boy was nearly half an hour late, and had ignored his texts. Archie Andrews was his childhood best friend. He'd met Archie in Kindergarten. The boy had caught his eye, not because of his bright red hair. Well, sort of. He was quite the spectacle; pale, almost albino skin contrasting with red curls. It was hard for Jughead not to notice him. But Jughead only saw him properly when he was the only one who hadn't brought a copy of Seventeen on World Book Day. They had been tasked to bring in their favourite book, and Archie Andrews with a missing tooth and untied laced had instead held up a Spider Man comic with an excited grin. "This is my favourite book," he'd declared, before pointing at Midge Klump's first edition of Seventeen. The girl was clutching it like her life depended on it. Archie's face had crumpled, and he's stuck his tongue out in disgust. "That's stupid."

Midge had burst into tears, but Jughead had laughed. Everyone he'd met had praised Seventeen, saying how amazing it was, and how much they loved it. At home, before his father broke down, FP would loudly express ideas at dinner. It had been at the height of his father's fame. He was on TV most nights, his voice crackling on radio stations on the way to school. Everybody in Riverdale loved Seventeen and Archie Andrews was the first person who didn't like it, and it had been a relief, a huge weight lifted off of his six year old chest. Jughead and Archie had been inseparable ever since. When The Jones's had moved out of Sunnyside trailer park and into a brand new four story mansion, Archie was a regular visitor, before FP stopped the boy's visits, saying it was distracting him from writing. So Jughead went to the Andrews house instead and played video games and ate Fred Andrews' famous casserole. When he was older, long after FP had left and Seventeen was still thriving, he'd sneak copies of the book into his backpack and the two of them would burn them in Fox forest, toasting marshmallows on the charred remains.

"Heads up, we've got a live one," Cheryl nudged him, snapping him out of it. She was frowning at a girl who had just walked in. Jughead couldn't help follow her gaze. The girl definitely wasn't in her sixties. Which struck him as strange, because of the vast majority of their customers had grey hair, often looking like they were seconds away from kicking the bucket. This girl bounded into the store, an enthusiastic spring in her step. She looked around their age. Though Jughead didn't recognise her. The girl was tall with olive skin and dark hair framing a heart shaped face, a straw hat resting delicately on her head. She regarded them with a bright smile, and Jughead glimpsed conspicuous green eyes, that looked almost unnaturally green. He was automatically reminded of one of Seventeen's characters.

Jughead turned to Cheryl. "Do you know her?" he said quietly, following the girl as she flitted around the store, picking up books and flipping them over, scanning the blurbs. She wore a short blue dress which complimented her long golden legs, along with sandals showing off velvet coloured nail polish. "No," Cheryl girl rolled her eyes. "But look at her, she's such a show off." Jughead had to agree with Cheryl on that one. The raven haired girl definitely knew she was pretty, and was eager to flaunt her looks. Cheryl curled her lips in disgust. "Honestly, does she really think that dress is in right now? She looks like an exotic bird."

He had to squeeze his lips together to stop himself laughing. "Behave."

After visiting every shelf, the girl made her way over to the counter, taking off her ray bans and settling the two of them with another 100 watt smile.

"Hi there!" The raven head flashed the two of them with a condescending grin, her gaze lingering on Jughead for far too long, before flicking to Cheryl.

Jughead already hated her. It was rare for him to hate someone upon first meeting them, but this girl- this girl was something else entirely. Her smile reminded him of a shark. "Do you guys have any cook books?"

Jughead blinked. "Cook books?" he'd been half expecting the girl to ask if they sold Seventeen. Unless she'd missed the giant display in the front window.

The girl nodded. "Yes, cook books." she giggled, cocking her head. "Is there a problem?"

Wow, the girl had an attitude. Cheryl folded her arms. "You're going to have to be a bit more specific," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"We have a lot of cook books."

"Uhhh..." the girl shrugged. "Why don't you surprise me??" she grinned at Cheryl expectantly, and Jughead could feel the redhead practically vibrating with fury.

When Cheryl didn't move, the girl slid her ray bans back on, that unnerving grin never leaving her lips. "My ubeuala's birthday is coming up and I'd like to bake her a cake," she explained. But everything about her smile told Jughead she was lying. He felt like calling her out, but decided against it. The quicker Cheryl got her a damn cook book, the quicker she could be on her way and he and Cheryl could make faces at her behind her back.

Cheryl nodded stiffly. Jughead supposed the girl was used to dealing with hard-of-hearing pensioners asking for Fifty Shades Of Grey. But this was a teenage girl with a bite in her tongue, the type of girl she'd automatically feel threatened by. But right now, as much as she hated it, Cheryl was an employee, and the girl was a customer. "Right, so cakes. You want cake cooking books," Cheryl smiled and hopped over the counter. It still baffled Jughead how high the girl could jump. When the two of them were bored, they took turns diving over the counter. And even in a skirt, Cheryl still managed it. "If you'd like to follow me!" she said, in a tone that suggested otherwise. Cheryl's cheeks had turned a shade of rosy, almost as dark as her hair. The girl was close to losing her patience, but was somehow keeping her cool, maintaining a perky attitude.

Jughead nodded at Cheryl with his own fake smile. His eyes glinted, secretly loving that Cheryl had to act professional. "You sort the customer out, and I'll see where Archie is," he pulled out his phone, a battered iPhone 7. He'd dropped it more times than he'd had hot meals. The screen had a crack down it. His lock-screen was him and Archie at a party before school started. Archie had been mid laugh, and he looked like he was going to throw up. As soon as that picture had been taken, he'd barfed all over Reggie Mantle's mother's sheepskin rug, and then all over Reggie. The picture still made him smile.

Before he could hit Archie's number, the dark haired girl spun around, her dress flying with her. Cheryl scanned the shelf, her finger trailing over each spine. "Alright, we've got like a million cake cook books, can you be more specific?"

Except the girl wasn't even watching her, instead her gaze was on Jughead. "Oh, are you looking for a redhead?"

Jughead frowned at the girl. "Yeah, actually," he said, and her smile brightened. If that was even possible. She already looked like she was about to explode from excitement.

"I saw a redhead outside on my way in," she said. "He was pretty cute."

Yep, definitely Archie. Jughead understood his place as 'The ugly friend' when he walked around with Archie. The Andrews boy was everything he wasn't; cool, confident and smiling. The boy usually wore his Letterman jacket, even in 90 degree heat, his red hair unbrushed and ragged. But he suited it.

It was no surprise that this girl found his best friend cute. "Cool, thanks." he muttered, jumping over the counter.

He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. God, he was boiling. Couldn't Grundy invest in a fan?

The girl turned to Cheryl, ignoring him, beginning to describe the kind of book she wanted. Much to Cheryl's annoyance. He saw that as his cue to go look for Archie. Jughead headed outside, pushing through the wooden doors, wincing when the hot afternoon air hit him in the face. At least inside the store it was cool, to an extent. Outside, he was knocked with the full brunt of the cruel sun's glare. Jughead was sure if he cracked an egg right now, it would cook on the steaming sidewalk. Grundy's Reads stood on the edge of town, meaning they were in the middle of nowhere. There was a store a few meters away, then a gas station. But that was it. Shading his eyes, Jughead scanned the patch of concrete in front of the little bookstore, mostly used as a parking lot for employee's.

His own beaten up truck was parked awkwardly next to Cheryl's bright red sports car, and then there were random cars dotted around. Riverdale's residents preferred to park in a random patch of land instead of in town and face a parking fee. Jughead weaved his way through cars, looking out for Archie's familiar mop of red hair. But it was nowhere to be seen. There was only him, stumbling around like an idiot. After five minutes of checking and rechecking the back to see if Archie was sitting under shade, Jughead pulled his phone out, letting out a sigh. It was too fucking hot for this.

"Hey, this is Archie!" the boy's answer-phone started up for what felt like the millionth time and Jughead groaned, biting his lip. When the beep tone sounded, he started walking again, glaring down at the tarmac.

"Where the hell are you? Your shift started at three, and it's nearly quarter to four," he hissed, his gaze skating the edge of horizon. Still no sign of the sun letting up. It was April, and felt like mid-August. "Dude, I swear to god, if you've ditched me with Cheryl Blossom for the next five hours you're-"

Jughead stopped abruptly, nearly choking on his words. He'd paused at the sound of a loud crunch, making him cringe. Jughead's gaze automatically went to the ground expecting road kill. Some poor critter who'd been flattened. But it wasn't road kill he'd stepped on. It was something black, something chunky. It glistened in the sun, reflecting his own confused face. It took Jughead a few dizzying seconds to realise it was a phone.

His gut twisted. Not just a phone. Upon closer inspection, Jughead glimpsed the pale blue phone cover Archie had bought when they'd vacationed in New York last summer. Jughead bent over, scooping up the phone, wincing at the state of it. The damn thing looked like it had been ran over by a car.

When he pressed the the on button, the splintered screen flickered for a moment before dying completely. He only stared the phone's dead screen, before lifting his gaze, scanning the lot. Had Archie dropped his phone without realising? But then- where was he? If he'd broke his phone, Jughead knew the boy would have burst in, clutching it like it was his dying child. He wouldn't just leave it.

"Are you okay?"

Jughead jumped at the sound of the voice. He dropped Archie's totalled phone and straightened up, finding himself face to face with a young blonde. For a moment, he couldn't speak. Maybe it was the heat making him hallucinate. The girl looked the spitting image of Sia, his father's character; short blonde curls bouncing on pale shoulders, bright blue eyes peering at him and that same inquisitive smile that had haunted his childhood. The girl wore shorts and t-shirt, and bizarrely, was barefoot. She wore a crown of flowers twined in her curls, and Jughead had to blink to see if he truly was imagining things. Though the air didn't ripple around her like in a mirage. Though was it really hot enough to full on hallucinate a girl?

"Uh..." it took him a painstaking moment to realise the girl was real, and not the result of not eating anything and running around in 90 degree heat. Jughead frowned at the girl's bare feet, unable to stop the smile curling on his lips. He felt stupid standing there in a polo shirt he was pretty sure was covered in sweat stains. His hair was a sweaty mess sticking to his forehead, and his cheeks were a glowing inferno.

But she looked more ridiculous, standing there with no shoes on. He wondered if she was a festival goer. The flowers in her hair made her look like some kind of hippy.

"Oh I'm fine," Jughead said a little breathlessly. "What about you?" he nodded at her feet, raising his brows.

"What the hell are you doing running around with no shoes on?"

The girl laughed to his surprise, but she didn't reply. Instead she cocked her head. "Are you looking for someone?" when Jughead couldn't coerce words with his tongue, she cleared her throat and nodded at the remains of Archie's phone. "Is that yours?"

Jughead shook his head, his attention going back to the phone. "No, it's my friend's," he muttered. "Actually, I don't suppose you've seen him?" when the girl looked confused, he shrugged. "He's got red hair, you can't miss him, probably stumbling over his laces."

The blonde looked like she was pretending to think. Her eyebrows crinkled and she tapped her chin with her index finger. "Hmmm, I don't think I have."

"Yeah, I figured." Jughead smiled politely.

"Well, I should probably go look for him-" he started to turn to go, but the girl interrupted him. "What colour hair does he have again?"

"Red." Jughead turned back to face her, frowning. "You've seen him?"

The blonde's lips pricked into a smile. "Describe him again for me."

Jughead blinked at her. Was this girl messing him around? He folded his arms. "Look, it's really no problem if you haven't seen him, I should get out of your hair," again, he tried to walk away. But this time the girl grabbed his arm, yanking him back.

Jughead stumbled and attempted to wrench his arm from her grip, but she held on, her fingernails piecing his skin. "Hey!" he yelled. The girl might be beautiful, but there was a strange glint in her eye.

"What the hell's your problem?" he gritted his teeth, trying to squirm from her hold, but the blonde only held on, barely fazed.

"What did your friend look like again?" she asked smoothly, and Jughead's chest tightened. "Dude, I said it's no big deal," he gasped out. "Can you get off me?"

The girl didn't loosen her grip. "Say it," she murmured. "I want you to tell me what your friend looks like."

Was this girl serious? Jughead considered shouting for Cheryl, since the girl was at yelling distance. "Okay, listen to me," he tried not to growl at the girl. "You can't just grab some stranger's arm, okay? And, ow! Dude, you're hurting me!"

"Your friend," her tone was steely. "Tell me what he looks like, and I'll let you go."

"Are you serious?!" Jughead spluttered. "Alright, fine. I've already told you, but go off. He's a fucking redhead with pale skin, probably wearing a cotton blue shirt, like mine alright? Now let me go!" to his surprise, the girl did. He stumbled back, breathless.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he hissed.

The girl only smiled sweetly. "Do you mean this redhead?" Jughead realised he'd stumbled into a black van. The girl skipped over to the back and pulled up the shutters. Every instinct inside him told him to run, but he couldn't. He was frozen. The blonde had dived into the back of what looked like a transit van, grabbing hold of a squirming figure, and Jughead's heart sank at the sight of the familiar flaming mop of red hair.

She was playing with him, he realised. The girl had planned all this out. Jughead managed to stagger backwards, his heart in his throat. Archie's eyes were wide with fright, his hands tied behind his back, lips gagged by a strip of silver duct tape. The blonde ragged the boy by the collar of his work shirt.

"Is this the redhead you're looking for?"

Archie was shaking his head rapidly, muffling incoherently. Jughead couldn't understand a word the boy was saying, but he knew his best friend was telling him to run. In a way, the boy had protected him since he was a kid. "GO!" the redhead muffled, but he couldn't. He couldn't leave Archie. Not when Archie had stuck with him through all the bullshit with his father, the fallout of Seventeen being abandoned, all the abusive fan mail that made his mother and sister cry. Archie had always been a shoulder to cry on, the one person he could break in front of, allowing himself to finally crumble under the rock hard facade he'd built around himself. Archie saw through it. He was the only one.

Jughead swallowed. "Yes, that's him," he managed to whimper. Even when all of this was part of her fucked game. When the blonde ragged Archie again, he found his voice. "Let him go," he choked, twisting around to yell for Cheryl. But the blonde only giggled, pulling out a gun. "He's collateral," she said, sticking the barrel into a trembling Archie's temples. "If you try anything I'll shoot his fucking brains out."

"Okay, I won't try anything, I- I swear!" Jughead threw up his arms, choking on sobs.

"I'll give you anything, I have cash-" his chest was busting, a scream clawing at his throat. The girl's index finger was teasing the trigger. Archie squeezed his eyes shut, still muffling at him to run. The blonde shook her head, her curls bouncing, pointing the gun at Jughead. He lost his breath.

"Get in the van."

"What?" he whimpered. "What? I-" he stumbled over his words, and the girl clearly enjoyed it. "Are you deaf?" she giggled, pressing the butt of the gun into her own temples, miming a gunshot. "Get in the van, Jughead Jones, or like I said, I'll give your friend a frontal lobotomy." the gleam in the eye told him she wasn't messing around, and Jughead was 100% sure her gun was loaded. He stood his ground, swallowing a cry.

"You know my name," he was careful with his tone. But his teeth remained gritted. "Let me guess," Jughead surprised himself with a harsh laugh.

"You're Seventeen fans."

"Were Seventeen fans," the familiar voice sent shivers down his spine, and he turned to find himself inches from another pistol held strategically in the raven haired girl's hand. Cook book girl. She must have been stalling all that time, leading him outside. Was she the one who took Archie? Anger seared through him. What had she done to Cheryl? The girl was still wearing her ray-bans. She smiled sweetly. "Get in the van, sweetie."

Jughead had to stall. "You were fans?" choked out.

"Yeah," the blonde said, struggling to pull a struggling Archie back into the darkness of the van. The boy tipped back, letting out a muffled cry. "As oppose to not anymore."

Jughead nodded. "Right," he panted. "So my dad's pissed you off, right?" he pulled a face. "Why are you taking it out on me, huh? I'm his son, I've done nothing wrong!"

The raven haired girl nodded. "Precisely." she was no longer smiling. "You're FP Jones's son." she flashed him a grin. "Glad we cleared that up, Juggiekins. Now get in the van."

Jughead held his breath. "Wait a second," he said quickly. If he could stall long enough, Cheryl might come out. But what would she do? Both of the girls had a gun. "My father is the one you want, so why are you taking me?" he tried to laugh, but it only came out as a hiss of breath. "FP Jones has been missing since two thousand and twelve," another voice - this time a male, chirped. A dark haired boy stuck his head out of the driver's side, greeting him with a cheery smile. His eyes widened. "Jughead, I'm a huge fan," the boy's gaze flitted to the dark haired girl's gun pointed between eyes. "Uh, no hard feelings, yeah?" the boy chuckled nervously. "B and V are a little intense, but trust me, they're nice." Jughead couldn't resist spluttering out a laugh. "A little intense?"

"Shut up Kevin," the blonde growled. "You're the driver. So drive." her eyes swivelled back to Jughead. "As for you, get in the van, or Archie gets a bullet in his skull."

"She's not kidding around," the dark haired girl murmured. "Even if Archie looks like Noah, she'll do it."

Jughead frowned. "He- he does?" he choked. "How the hell does Archie look anything like-" he swallowed the latter half of his words when the cold metal of the the raven head's gun pressed into his back. "Stop talking," she groaned. "god, you're annoying."

Jughead had no choice. Either give in to his instincts and run away, risking Archie's life, or follow the girl's demands. "Okay," he said softly, taking a small step towards the van. The blonde was quick to grab his arms, restraining them behind his back, before hoisting him inside. "Wait," he managed to choke out. "If you take me, let Archie- argh!" Jughead hit the cool metal of the van's floor face first. Pain exploded across his cheeks and he felt blood trickle from his nostrils. But he couldn't wipe it away. The blonde followed him, yanking him up so he was sitting on his knees. "Archie's collateral I'm afraid," she giggled, producing a roll of duct tape, teasingly pulling a strip.

"No," he growled. "If you take me, let him go!" he yelled. The girl shook her head before sticking a strip of tape over his mouth. When he glared at her, she smiled brightly. "Don't worry! As soon as we have Seventeen's last book finished, we'll let you go."

"What?!" the tape wasn't very good. He easily spat it out. The girl kneeled in front of him. She cocked her head. Jughead had to hold himself when the van flew forwards with the engines revving. The motion made his stomach jump into his throat. "You're crazy," he whispered. "My dad hasn't been seen in years so you'll be following a dead trail."

The girl reached to wipe away his tears, and he flinched away, hissing. But she only laughed, sitting back. He tried to shuffle back, but she grabbed him by the hair, ragging him forwards. He had to bite his tongue to suppress a pained screech. "I'm Betty by the way," she said. "They're my friends Veronica and Kevin in the front."

Jughead glared at her. "Nice to fucking meet you," he spat. "Can you let us go?"

"Your friend, the girl working at the store? I think her name's Cheryl," Betty smiled happily. "We took care of her."

Ice slid down his spine. "You- you killed her?"

"No, silly!" it was almost childish how the girl was sitting, cross legged in front of him as if this was some kind of game. "Ronnie gave her a little something to foggy up her memory," Betty murmured. "She'll be fine. She'll just have a raging headache."

"And what? You think you're off the hook?" he hissed, leaning forward. The restraints rubbed against his wrists. "The police will come looking for me."

She raised a brow. "Oh they will, will they?" her voice was teasing. "What about the hand written note you left in your bedroom," when he started to protest, she pressed her hand over his mouth. "Shhh, I'm speaking. "The note you told everyone that you were going to look for your father, and specifically NOT to look for you?"

"You're insane." he mumbled into her hand, and Betty only grinned. "Your dad was right, you are like James."

Jughead could have sobbed, thinking back to how much the book had ruined his childhood, his relationship with his father, and his life as a whole. But he held himself. When she withdrew her hand, he swallowed.

"Your life revolves around my dad's book," he said through his teeth. "Don't you think that's a pretty shitty life?

He automatically regretted his choice of words when the girl pulled out her gun, sticking the barrel between his eyes. Jughead didn't breathe. He didn't move. The feeling of cold metal sticking into his skull sent shivers tingling down his spine. "I said I WAS a fan," he flinched when Betty's lips nipped at his ear, her voice an icy hiss. "Not anymore."

"And why is that?" he whispered. "Did you finally realize that it was a lump of shi-ow," the girl dug the gun in harder, and he bit his tongue against a roll of insults ready to drip from his tongue. Betty leaned close, her breath tickling her cheeks. "Your father abandoned us," she spat. Every word was venom.

"He left us in the dark, and never gave us a conclusion. We never knew if Sia and Noah got together, of if Sia chose James instead, or even if James survived!" Jughead tried not to cry out, but the gun was stabbing into his temples, white hot agony running down his cheek and jaw. "Do you understand what he left us with?" Betty hissed. "Do you even understand what we had to deal with?"

"No," he gasped out. "Please, you're- you're hurting me."

The girl didn't let up. "We took you, Jughead Jones, because you're FP's Legacy. You hold the key to Seventeen inside you, and you can write the final book for us!"

When the pressure of the gun finally slipped from his temples, Jughead realised his eyes were squeezed shut.

When he let them flicker open, Betty was gone, leaving him tied up in the darkness with Archie. After a moment of registering that this was actually happening, he let out a shaky breath. "I'll get us out of here," he whispered. "I promise, Arch. I'll get us out."

There was a pause, before Archie muffled something before spitting the tape off his mouth, groaning. "I picked the wrong fucking day to come to work."

**Author's Note:**

> leave kudos and lemme know what you think for more <3


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